Thank Heaven. Mum seems to have got over her latest attack of Hormones and was almost civil at breakfast time (toast - always a safe option.)
She says she has my cheque in safe keeping, which is a relief in a way, although my cash-flow problem still requires urgent attention if I am to continue my wooing of Rachel. I imagine restaurants and even fish-and-chip shops are reluctant to accept IOUs, and I can hardly ask Mum to lend me some money or she would want to know why.
She also said that I played the hymns very nicely yesterday, but I suspect that is because her musical tastes have been influenced by Coronation Street and Songs of Praise on the telly where there is not much Mozart or Haydn (Mozart being my particular favourite composer, especially his easier pieces.)
Apparently there was an article in yesterday’s Sunday Times by the President of the Royal Institute of British Architects, Mr Sunand Prasad*, in which he praised our church for its noble contribution to the maintenance of the national architectural heritage by having conservation work done on our ancient choirstalls! Mum showed me a cutting that Mrs Ramsbotham had given her. Mrs Ramsbotham says that she happens to know that Mr Prasad and our Suffragan Bishop are good friends and used to play cricket together. What a small world it is! And I didn’t know about this conservation work, although I am nominally Choirmaster as well as Organist. The last time I saw the old choirstalls they’d been moved out of the Vestry and were leaning against the wall in the boilerhouse, which is where the cat goes to do its business. The new ones do not really look right in our Chancel, and they do not provide any additional seating whatsoever unless our future choir is composed entirely of very thin people. But since the choir at present numbers 0 persons, that future may be a long way off.
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